


Wounded Healer

by awfulhospital



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Like, Other, Platonic Relationships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, friendships, it's all completely platonic, platonic mcmercy, shit i remember happening between jesse and myself, this is all me trying to be as true to my own kin memories as possibl, we had a best friend relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 19:17:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9621887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awfulhospital/pseuds/awfulhospital
Summary: Jesse and Angela have been friends for a long, long time.She really shouldn't be surprised about how poorly he takes care of himself. But here we are.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I would recommend listening to "Wounded Healer (Deer Tick sample)" by Watsky while reading this! I stole the title from that song, NGL... I'm working on actually making a McMercy playlist right now, and I'll link it when it's done!

  _"This is McCree. If yer hearin' this, I'm most likely avoidin' you, or just unavailable. Leave a message after the tone. Thank ya kindly."_

     Angela pulled the cellphone away from her ear, frowning at the receding voice of her best friend and quickly hanging up. That was the third time this week that she'd been sent to voicemail. And Jesse  _never_ missed a call from her. At least, not without eventually getting back to her. If he was really in the middle of something so important that he couldn't respond to her, he'd better get his priorities in order. She was definitely more important than whatever harebrained personal project he'd thrown himself into now.

     This dismissal of her attempts to connect with him, she decided, was definitely unacceptable.

 

⚕          ⚕          ⚕          ⚕          ⚕

 

     An hour and a half later, Angela had reached Jesse's apartment.  _Finally_. It'd taken far too long to navigate through traffic and avoid those who'd recognize her, even out of uniform. She couldn't risk letting anyone see her off the battlefield; Overwatch just had too many enemies. Between terrorist organizations, radical groups, and citizens who'd rather take matters into their own hands via harassment and demands for agents' resignations, she was sure she never would have made it had she not taken as many side-streets and out-of-the-way paths as possible.

     Angela hesitated before knocking on Jesse's door. The shine had gone from the stainless steel of the door long ago, clouded by grime. Most of it, Angela thought with a twinge of disgust, had likely been there since he'd first moved here. He really wasn't one for getting around to cleaning, well, anything. Nothing that he deemed "unimportant," anyway.

     "Jesse?" she called out. "It's me, Angela. I happened to have ze day off and wanted to check in on you. Are you alright?"

     She waited.

     And waited.

     After nearly three minutes without a response, Angela sighed and pulled her phone out again.

     " ** _im coming inside now so youd better be decent_** "

     Using the key card he'd given her, she opened the door and entered, flicking the light switch and washing the room in the dingy yellow light of the ceiling lamp. The scene before her nearly made her cry. In the corner of the living room, Jesse sat passed out on an old rocking chair, huddled under an old gray woolen blanket. His hat was tipped low on his face, and the floor.... The floor around him was covered in discarded beer cans, a bottle or two breaking up the carpet of silver and red labels.

     "Oh, Jesse," Angela murmured, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She crossed the room, reaching out a hand as she knelt next to the crumpled form of her friend. "I'm so sorry."

     Jesse stirred under the blanket under her touch, muttering lowly about needing more sleep.

     "Come here," she requested, tugging gently on his arms.

     He blinked, cracked an eye open blearily, and squinted.

     "Wh'time is it?"

     "It's nearly eight in ze evening, Jesse. Though, I'm more surprised you're not more curious about why I'm here."

     Jesse barked a laugh, a harsh sound in the stillness of the small room. "Why wouldn' you be? Yer practically my guardian angel," he smirked. The gesture was hollow though; halfhearted. They both knew it, yet neither made a move to point out the ridiculous nature of maintaining any kind of charade between close friends. Especially when said friends were alone. There was no one here to convince, no authority figures to seek out and attack weaknesses; yet, Jesse continued out of habit.

     Angela scoffed and helped him to his feet, letting him lean on her as he shuffled over to his similarly small kitchen and poured a glass of tap water for himself.

     "I think you and I both know I'm not an angel. I simply care for you. You're a dear friend of mine, and I'd hate to see you fall victim to your own devices."

     Jesse frowned and opened his mouth, seemingly about to contradict her, but seemed to think better of it and shrugged, tipping back his water.

     "'S far as I'm concerned, this ain't the worst place I could be. 'M not dead just yet, darlin'."

     "Isn't it, though?" Angela suddenly let go of Jesse's arms as she folded her own, leaving him to stumble and lean his weight against the faux-marble of his kitchen counter. "Tell me, Jesse, why do you do zis to yourself? You could seriously hurt yourself. You could get alcohol poisoning. You could-you could  _die._ " Her voice cracked on the last word, but she swallowed against the lump of anxiety and pain in her throat. "What do you think I would do without you?"

     "What about me?" Jesse growled into his glass, glaring at the water there as if it had betrayed him. "Yer talkin' like drinking's the worst I could be doin'. And yeah, maybe it ain't exactly great fer my health. But y'know what, miz High-and-Mighty?" he asked, turning his gaze to the blonde to his right.

 _If looks could kill_ , she thought absently as her tears from earlier returned.

     "Maybe I've got issues of my own to work out! Maybe," he continued, gesturing with the half-empty glass as his voice raised unconsciously, "this helps me! Drinkin' makes me feel better. I ain't no damn alcoholic neither, so don't pull that shit on me. Don't you fuckin' dare."

     Silence. Jesse glanced back at her, wondering why she hadn't responded yet, to be met with a tearful and angry Angela. She silently shook with the impact of his words, trying not to take what he was saying to heart. It was just how he was, she reminded herself, unsuccessfully blinking back tears and staring at the ceiling. He wasn't angry with her. He really wasn't.

     ".... Angela?" He reached hand out to her uncertainly, a pang of regret shooting through his heart as she flinched away from his touch. "I didn't... I'm sorry."

     She nodded without speaking, allowing herself to be pulled into a hug.

     "I understand."


End file.
